


Heart Attack Blues

by fanCAT_not_fanGIRL



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of a heart attack, Coda to s02e19, Dean hides injury, Episode: s02e19 Folsom Prison Blues, Gen, Heart Attacks, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sam gets mad, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24904507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanCAT_not_fanGIRL/pseuds/fanCAT_not_fanGIRL
Summary: Maybe the almost-heart-attack that the ghost nurse gave Dean left some unwanted effects on him. Hurt!Dean Worried!Sam
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Heart Attack Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Because I like hurting Dean and you can’t just almost have a heart attack without getting away unscathed. At least, not in my opinion.

Heart attacks were not fun.

That much Dean Winchester was certain of. 

He had experienced one the previous year when he and Sam had hunted that creature in the basement of some run down house in the middle of nowhere, and had almost died. He could still feel the pain sometimes. The tightness in his chest. The agony lacing through his body like lightning. The inability to breathe.

In short, Dean had never wanted to experience one of those again.

But, because he just happened to be a Winchester, luck was never on his side.

And so of course during their gig at the Green River County Detention Center, the spirit of Nurse Glockner had decided to jump start the memories by giving him another heart attack. Or, at least, beginning to give him one. Just in time, Dean had grabbed the salt and slashed it across her image, both freeing him and dooming Tiny in the process.

The guilt over letting Tiny die weighed heavy across his chest, as did the remaining effects of the almost-heart-attack the nurse had given him. It did not get better over time. Dean had hoped that the pain would have gone away after a few hours, but again, he was a Winchester. And Winchesters never got what they wanted.

So now the job was done and the brothers were sitting side by side in the Impala, mere minutes away from a hotel, and Dean wasn’t feeling any better. They had been on the road for hours and hours, hoping to put as much space as possible between them and the police, who were no doubt tearing apart the countryside looking for them.

It hurt to breathe, and if Dean tried to move, agony stabbed through him. The road blurred in front of him every few minutes, and at times Dean desperately fought the urge to hurl.

Sam had asked multiple times if Dean wanted to let him drive, but every time Dean refused, only to regret his decision minutes later when another bout of pain cut through him like lightning.

It might have helped to tell Sam, but Dean didn’t want to worry his brother. Sam had enough on his plate as it was, what with thinking about his “destiny” and how he could avoid turning evil. Which Dean was sure would not happen. There was no way, none at all, that his little brother was a monster. I mean, the guy would hit a squirrel with his car and mope about for weeks on end. It wasn’t possible that he could turn into a monster. It just wasn’t. Dean was sure of it.

But Sam wasn’t, and that was enough for Dean to keep his injury a secret. There was no need to lay that burden on Sam. He had been through enough.

Turning off the highway, Dean grit his teeth and kept down a gasp of pain as he turned the wheel, sending sharp twinges of pain through his chest and up his arms. Son of a bitch. Dean just crossed his fingers and prayed that Sam didn’t notice.

But Dean was a Winchester after all, and therefore nothing ever went his way.

“Hey man, you good?” Sam’s voice cut through the silence that had occupied the car previously, quiet and hesitant. To Dean, though, it sounded as if Sam had held a megaphone up to his ear and screamed the words.

Wincing, Dean forced his mouth into a grin and his eyes quickly flitted to Sam’s worried face. “I’m A-okay. I guess Deacon just walloped me in the stomach harsher than he had to. I don’t think I hit him back hard enough for that.” Sam didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, Sammy. No need to worry your pretty princess head.”

“It’s Sam,” His brother grumbled, and Dean chuckled. That was a bad move, because his heart clenched and his chest felt like it was on fire. Crap.

Through the pain, Dean almost missed the sign that pointed to the hotel, swerving at the last second onto the parking lot. Sam gave him a concerned look, but Dean just shrugged it off. The sooner he got some rest, the better.

Sending Sam for the keys to the room, Dean hauled himself out of the car, barely holding back a cry of agony at the movement. Leaning against the car, Dean caught his breath. Why wasn’t it getting better? Back at the prison he had felt fine. Well, mostly fine. There had been a lingering tightness in his chest, but nothing like this.

“Dean? You coming or what?” Sam’s voice broke Dean painfully out of his thoughts, and Dean grunted as he grabbed the bags from the trunk and headed for their room, trying not to stumble. 

Entering, Dean squinted his eyes against the brightness of the lights. Dropping the bags onto the floor, he made a beeline towards his bed, not even bothering to undress first.

“Do you want the shower?” Sam called over this shoulder as he untied his shoes. 

The words cut through Dean’s head like knives, and Dean made sure his back was turned to his brother as to try to hide the look of pain that crossed his face. “Nah, you go on. I want to hit the hay.”

Sam’s response was lost in the ringing in Dean’s ears, and the older hunter collapsed onto the bed. The darkness took him before he knew it, and Dean knew no more.

<><><><><>

Dean awoke with a need for water.

His throat was parched and sore, not unlike the rest of his body. Dean had hoped that after resting for a few hours he’d feel better, but then again, he was a Winchester. And nothing ever went right for him.

Except that the sounds of running water in the bathroom told Dean that he hadn’t, in fact, rested for a few hours. More like a few minutes. The shower was still on, which meant that Sam was still in there.

At least something was going his way.

Biting back whimpers, Dean pulled himself inch by inch into an upright position. If anything, his heart hurt more now than it did before. As did his head. It felt like it was splitting open, sending waves of dizziness through Dean’s body, making him sway as he got to his feet. And his lungs. Had it always been this hard to breathe? Dean didn’t think so.

What had he wanted again?

Oh, right. Water.

Putting one foot in front of the other proved harder than he had first thought, and through the haze of pain, Dean didn’t realize that the sound of running water from the bathroom had stopped. 

He made it across the room and closed his hand around a water bottle sitting on the hotel table. Bringing it to his lips, Dean closed his eyes and drank, savoring the way the cold liquid ran down his throat. It escaped his notice how most of the water had missed his mouth and had ended up dripping onto the floor. 

Content with the amount of water that had made it into his mouth, Dean turned on his heel, ready to go back to bed.

That had been the wrong thing to do, as he lost his balance and staggered, ramming chest-first into the edge of the table.

The reaction was immediate. Heart seizing, the air seemed to leave Dean’s body all at once, leaving him gasping for it. Falling to his hands and knees, Dean barely had the strength to support himself with one arm, as the other was busy clawing at his chest. The pain spread through his body like wildfire, burning everything in its path. It consumed him.

Dean had hoped that he’d be able to keep his injury from Sam, but the slam of a door and a shout of his name was enough to tell him that he had failed.

After all, he was a Winchester, and things never seemed to go as planned.

Which was why Dean didn’t even fight it when, again, the darkness pulled him under.

<><><><><>

Sam knew there was something wrong with Dean.

Ever since they had left the prison. Even before then, in fact. 

But it had only become blatantly obvious when Dean had relinquished the offer to shower first. Usually, Dean would be the one that would be shoving Sam out of the way and locking himself in the bathroom as soon as they’d get back from a hunt. But not today. 

Sam had wanted to ask what was wrong, but knowing Dean, the answer would have been, “I’m fine,” or “Nothing,”. So Sam had decided that, fine, if Dean wanted to stew in his own pain, then let him do so.

If he was being honest, Sam was still a little mad at Dean from when his older brother demanded that they stay at the prison, risking their lives to help one of dad’s friends. They were no use to anyone dead, and it didn’t really bother Sam that a few prison lowlifes would perish in exchange.

But maybe that was the monster talking.

No.

Sam showered in scalding hot water, as if he wanted to wash away all the evil in him. But then again, it hadn’t worked before, so why would it now?

He took his time, and was finished in a little over half an hour. Dean would kill him for that, Sam thought with a small smirk, brushing his teeth. They always did this. Fought over the smallest of things. Unlike other siblings, it was weirdly the way the Winchesters showed affection. 

Small jabs. Insults. Pranks. Those were all the brothers’ ways of saying, “I love you.” It was odd, yes. But they were Winchesters, which meant that nothing they ever did was normal.

And Sam was fine with that.

Except for the times his brother was an ass. A stubborn, pigheaded ass. One that wouldn’t accept help from anyone or anything. One that Sam got so frustrated with. One like he was now. 

It had been obvious that he had been having trouble driving. So why not let Sam drive? It was stupid. So very, very stupid. Kind of like Dean himself. Stubborn and stupid and sometimes Sam just wanted to throttle him.

Pulling on a fresh set of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Sam switched the lights off in the bathroom and opened the door, preparing himself for another long hour of trying to convince Dean to tell Sam what was wrong with him.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him.

Dean was on the floor, on his hands and knees, arms shaking. His head was bent, almost touching the floor. And the sounds. Sam’s heart broke with every choke and wheeze that left Dean’s mouth. Before he knew it, Sam was darting across the room and dropping to his knees beside his brother.

“Dean!”

Dean lifted his eyes and their gazes connected mere seconds before Dean’s eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed forward into Sam’s waiting arms.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam whispered, knowing his brother couldn’t hear him. Grabbing Dean’s shoulders, Sam brought him up so that Dean was leaning against his younger brother, chests almost touching. Cupping Dean’s face, Sam tried to get his brother to wake back up.

“Dean? Dean, hey man, I need you to open your eyes, okay? Just for a second. Please, please, please just open your eyes.” Sam was pleading now, his mind a jumbled mess. What had happened? How had he missed something this serious? How was he going to help Dean if he didn’t even know what was wrong with him?

“Dean, open your goddamn eyes right now or I swear to god, I’ll sell the Impala. I will.” And just like that, Dean’s eyes were fluttering open and Sam was letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s it, Dean. That’s it. Now keep them open for me, can you do that?”

But Dean seemed to have other plans, and he tensed under Sam and lifted a hand to his chest, clawing the material covering it. His eyes were panicked, and Sam realized with an ever sinking heart that Dean was having trouble breathing.

“Oh god, Dean. You have to calm down. Take deep breaths, okay?” Sam pulled back a bit to give his brother room, but never loosening his grip on him. “Deep breaths, Dean. Just breathe. Breathe.” 

But it wasn’t working. Dean was wheezing, gasping for air, and nothing Sam was doing was helping. Gritting his teeth, Sam decided to try something else. Pulling Dean flush against him, chest to chest, Sam started breathing deeply, exaggerating his breaths. In and out, in and out, all the while mumbling a mantra of soothing words into Dean’s ear. “It’s ok, Dean. I got you. Deep breaths. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

One of his hands was on Dean’s backs, rubbing it comfortingly, trying to ease the tension in the muscles. The other hand was cupping the back of Dean’s head, his fingers running through Dean’s hair. Gently. Softly.

And it worked. Soon, Dean’s breathing slowed, became calmer. His hands that had previously had a desperate grip on Sam’s t-shirt fabric had relaxed, as did the rest of his body. His head was pressed into the crook of Sam’s neck, and Sam could feel the small pants that brushed against his skin.

Once he was sure that Dean’s breathing was back to normal, Sam pulled back and peered into Dean’s face. His brother’s facial features were tight with pain, and Sam couldn’t help but notice the tear tracks that had made their way down Dean’s cheeks.

Sam didn’t want to do this, but he had to know what was wrong with Dean. How else was he supposed to help his brother otherwise? “Dean, what the hell just happened?”

Dean didn’t answer at first, the silence stretching between them. Then, as though he was speaking through glass, Dean managed to get out, “‘m fine, S’mmy.”

That was it. The last straw. Giving Dean an enraged look, Sam fought to keep his voice from shouting, which he knew would only make the pain worse for Dean. “You’re fine? You’re _fine?_ Dean, you were on the floor, barely breathing! If that means ‘fine’ in your book, then you need to check the definition of ‘fine’. Because you are certainly NOT fine.” Seeing Dean wince, Sam realized that his voice had climbed in volume, and he brought it down a few notches. Yes, he was angry with his brother, but not angry enough to want to cause him additional pain. “Dean, it looked like you were having a heart attack! Now, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but-”

And then it hit Sam. 

“You jerk. You big, stubborn, idiotic, jerk. You got attacked by the spirit, didn’t you?” The look on Dean’s face said it all. “I don’t believe it. And you didn’t even think to tell me? That you almost _died_ on this job?” 

Dean seemed to be getting his bearings more, being able to breathe on his own. He glanced at Sam before lowering his eyes to the floor between them. “Didn’t think it was such a big deal.”

Sam scoffed, eyes wide with disbelief. “Not a big deal? You do realize that you could have died, right? I could have given you painkillers, medicine. At least I could’ve done the driving.” Dean didn’t answer. “Dean, why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it would get better.” Dean’s voice was still rough, but even then Sam strained to hear it.

“You thought it would-” Sam let out an exasperated breath and took his hand away from its supporting grip on Dean’s shoulder, running it over his face. “Okay you know what. Whatever. I don’t care. But Dean,” His hand touched Dean’s chin and raised it so that their eyes would meet. “Next time you get hurt, you _have_ to tell me, okay? I can’t do anything if I’m too busy being worried about you.”

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s usually me saying that to you.”

Sam glared. “Promise me, Dean.”

It didn’t look like Dean was going to answer and Sam was about to ask again before Dean sighed. “Okay Sammy. Next time I get a papercut, you’ll be the first to know.”

Sam smiled grimly at that, not even bothering to correct his brother at the nickname. It would have to do for now.

“Let’s get you up,” he said, standing and hauling Dean up with him. Dean’s face twisted at the pain that no doubt laced through him, but Sam had to get him to the bed. And then had to somehow coerce him into taking pills.

One step at a time, though.

Wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist, Sam supported most of Dean’s weight as they hobbled back to the bed, Dean letting out a muffled cry as he sank onto the mattress. Gently leaning him backwards, Sam commanded that Dean not move while he got the meds.

Coming back less than a minute later with pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Sam offered them to his brother, who took them without any fuss. If Sam needed a sign that his brother was most definitely not fine, then that was it. Dean must have really been in pain for him to not object being given medicine.

Swallowing the pills down, Dean then looked up at Sam. “I’m hungry.”

Oh.

When was the last time they had eaten? Hours ago, probably. 

Now that he thought about it, Sam was also hungry. He’d been too wrapped up in his thoughts and worries about Dean to even realize it.

Nodding, Sam shrugged on his coat and pointed a strict finger at Dean. “Don’t move. I don’t want to drag your sorry ass to a hospital just because you were stupid enough to try to get out of bed.”

Dean just gave him a smirk. “Get me a burger.”

“Not a chance,” Sam called over his shoulder as he opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him.

<><><>

Coming back with a salad and a BLT sandwich as well as some coffee for himself, Sam was relieved that Dean hadn’t moved since he had left his brother a little over forty minutes ago. In fact, his brother had turned on the TV and was engrossed in some type of family drama that was currently on. At least something was going his way.

Setting his salad and coffee down at the table, Sam walked across the room and gave Dean his own food.

What he wasn’t expecting, though, was that Dean turned off the TV as soon as Sam sat back down at the table, and fixed his eyes on him. The look on Dean’s face was something that confused Sam. It looked sad, grave. A chill ran down Sam’s spine.

“Sammy, I have to tell you something.”

Sam froze.

Dean continued. “I thought about what you said earlier, about not hiding any injuries from you...” Did something else happen? Oh god, what if there were still injuries that Sam didn’t know about from when he had been possessed by Meg. Had he done something to Dean?

Dean looked down, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. “I didn’t know if I should tell you this, but…”

Sam couldn’t wait any longer. “What is it, Dean?”

Dean’s sullen look suddenly morphed into a sharp grin as his hand flew up into the air and flipped Sam off. “I have a paper cut.” And he did. There was a small, red line cutting across Dean’s middle finger, and Sam’s eyes immediately went to the small knife that was sticking out from underneath Dean’s pillow.

The next thing Dean knew, there was a water bottle thrown at his head, and he ducked, chuckling.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Sam growled, but he couldn’t stop the smile that fought its way onto his face.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

By that they meant ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m glad you’re ok’.

And, of course, because their last name was Winchester, they wouldn’t have it any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'm working on the next chapter of It's Not You, but I've been rewatching the show and this idea just hit me so I had to write it.


End file.
